Wait For Me
by ItWritesStuff
Summary: "Wait, when dreary yellow rains tell you, you should not. Wait when snow is falling fast, wait when summer's hot, wait when yesterdays are past, others are forgot. Wait, when from that far-off place, letters don't arrive. Wait, when those with whom you wait doubt if I'm alive. Wait for me, and I'll come back!" - Konstantin Simonov, 1941.
1. Wait For Me

A/N: This was largely inspired by Konstantin Simonov's poem _Wait For Me._ He was a Russian war correspondent during WWII and he wrote the poem to his would-be wife Valentina Serova sometime in 1941. A lot of soldiers were dying and he was basically asking her to not loose faith and to wait for him. It was published the following year and was instantly popular especially with USSR soldiers that proceeded to send it to their own wives and girlfriends, and it became so widespread that it was found in the most unlikely places, such as the breast pockets of dead and wounded soldiers. Anyway, it's one of my absolute favourites! If you're interested you can find it here (without the spaces): www. simonov. co. uk/ waitforme. htm.

* * *

He had his back to her the entire time she talked. He was so still he could've easily been mistaken for a statue, with both hands resting firmly on the windowsill and his shoulders just barely rising and falling with every breath he took. Hermione longed to see his face but she felt rooted to the closed door she was leaning against.

"Remus doesn't mean to insult you, Viktor," she said, pleading for what felt like the hundredth time, desperate for him to understand. He _had_ to. They were all counting on her to make him see reason. "He understands that you'd be a great asset to the war. We all do, and we all appreciate the sacrifices you're willing to make for the Order, but Remus is right. You can't be involved."

She bit her lip, waiting for another outburst that nearly silenced her old professor, but he remained unmoving.

"It's not that anyone doubts your skills," she added. "I'm sure you can hold a fort on your own, but the fact remains that your face is not exactly hard to recognize and I hardly think it's a secret that you've got family in powerful positions in the Bulgarian ministry. We're trying our best, but it's still very likely that Voldemort will soon take over our ministry, and if he suspects that you're in any way affiliated with the Order–" she stopped, shuddering at the thought, and then willed herself to continue. " –He'll consider it a declaration of war from wizarding Bulgaria, and if worse comes to worse, he'll respond by infiltrating the Bulgarian ministry. The war will no longer be contained. Voldemort's army of Death Eaters will expand and he'll be even more elusive and much more difficult to defeat."

She hated that she was speaking in that practical, detached tone of voice. It made her sound like she was discussing development plans rather than war strategies and death, but she needed him to set aside his pride and to _really_ listen to her. If he was still the same man she knew three years ago then he definitely wouldn't dispute facts.

"As far as the world is concerned, you need to remain neutral," she said. "Many more lives will be spared that way. Please try to understand, Viktor. This is for the best."

She felt tears stinging her eyes at his silence and at his still-turned back. She knew she had no right to feel hurt, not when she knew just how troubled and insecure he had been ever since he got easily cursed into torturing Cedric. The press didn't make things any better, for he was Durmstrang Institute's finest and they thought it appropriate to continuously reference and question the legitimacy of that title following the third task of the Triwizard Tournament. He had expected her of all people to understand and she had disappointed him.

She couldn't take the silence anymore. She needed to see his face, to hear his voice, even if he was going to tell her that he regrets trusting her. She pushed herself from the door and slowly walked towards him. She reached for his shoulder but only allowed the tips of her fingers to graze the thick fabric of his sweater, suddenly afraid that he'd flinch or move away from her touch.

"I'm sorry," she said in a low voice, close to a whisper, as tears rolled down her cheeks. "Viktor, please say something."

"I have spent three years learning Occlumency," he said slowly, his voice as still as his posture, his Eastern European accent as prominent and thick as she remembers. "Three years of strangers in my head, Hermione. There were times I did not feel like a man, and in those times I wanted to be dead, but I learned to close my mind because I wanted to be with you. I wanted to be a man worthy of my name, the kind of man you deserve."

"Please don't say such things, you _are_ that man and much more," she said, gripping the back of his sweater with both hands. "I didn't– I didn't need you to get stronger, I just wanted to be with you. I missed you so much, and I always thought were strong, Viktor, so very strong!" He didn't seem affected by her words. He was still and quiet again, and for a while she thought he wasn't going to talk anymore. "Viktor, _please_ talk to me, I can't take this!" She cried.

"I just got you back, and now you're going to war and you're asking me to go home and do nothing while you risk your life," he said, so low she barely heard it. "Tell me, Hermione. What do you want me to say to that?"

"Anything!" she said, quickly wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face in his back. "Anything that comes to your mind, just please…!" _anything but the silence,_ she wanted to add.

One of his hands moved from the windowsill to cover both of hers. "I love you."

"I know," she choked, muffled against his back. "I don't understand why, but I suppose it's possible if you're crazy enough to repeat that horrible Wonky Faint move."

"Wronski Feint," he corrected, his tone only slightly amused. He then carefully turned around to face her without breaking free of her embrace. "Marry me."

"What?!"

"Marry me," he repeated, cupping her face in his hands and wiping her tears with his thumbs, his dark eyes soft and imploring and desperate. "Be my wife."

He was trying very hard to hide his fear but she saw it as clear as the stars shinning bright in the sky. He was afraid he wouldn't see her again; that she'd either die or loose herself in the war, and he was desperate to savor every precious minute they had left. A part of her, the part that shared his fears and was just as equally desperate, wanted her to say Yes and to find the first Ceremony Official willing to bind them, but the other part, the stronger one that kept her fears hushed and hidden from the concerned eyes of her friends, thought they deserved better than a rushed ceremony.

"Wait for me," she said softly.

He sighed and closed his eyes, hiding his pain.

"I'll come back," she said determinedly, pulling him closer. "Wait with all you've got, even if they tell you to forget me, even when they start doubting if I'm alive. Wait for me, because I'll come back, and then… and then we'll have the life we deserve."

The words were too sweet and fanciful for a tongue as sharp as hers, and if someone had told her days before that she was capable of uttering them she would've laughed.

"Let me fight with you," he all but pleaded.

"I can't let you," she said, shaking her head. "You'll only save my life by waiting for me."

She had erased her presence from her parents' lives. They were blissfully unaware of her plight, probably lounging in a sunny beach somewhere in Australia. They couldn't save her. Her friends were all fighting by her side, each and every one of them ready to put their lives on the line for the greater good. There was no point trying to survive if they were all going to die. Viktor on the other hand had seen things, she's sure of it, at least when he was still in Durmstrang under Karkaroff's reign, but he was still unmarred by the horrors of war and she needed him to remain that way. He was her only chance.

She closed the remaining distance between them and pressed her lips to his. It took a moment for him to wrap his arms around her and to fully respond to her kiss, and only then did she know that she finally broke his resolve.

"Don't be late," he breathed when they pulled back, staring at her lips for an interval before covering them with his own again.

"Why, are you going to start looking for someone new?" she asked, pulling back to arch an eyebrow at him.

"Of course not," he said, kissing her brow. "If you're late, I will come looking for you."

"You know for a man who's already waited three years you're not very patient," she teased.

He chuckled for the first time in days and her heart soared. "Well, I'm a man and men usually go to war and women do the waiting, mostly because we men can't wait."

"I _will_ come back," she promised, leaning her forehead against his. _Only if you wait._

"I know, otherwise you would not be the smartest witch of your age," he said, smiling. "But I will always worry, Hermione. I will sometimes try to find you, but I trust you just as much as I love you, so I will wait. They will drink to the martyrs and I will drink to your health when you return."

* * *

A/N: I figured Viktor would manage to perfect his English in the span of three years, since he was planning on coming back and all... anyway, I especially loved writing this, so I really hope you enjoyed it!


	2. The Beggar

A/N: sequel to Wait For Me, as requested by drovingallday96! It's longer by a 1000 words and a little darker than originally planned, and for that I do apologise, but there will be one more chapter after this and I promise that it's a much happier one!

This is very loosely based on another Simonov poem, once again addressed to Valentina Serova (figured I might as well since I started with him) and it's a lot shorter than Wait For Me, so I decided to include it in the chapter. Alright, I'm done boring you with long author's notes! Hope you enjoy this!

* * *

 _In a dream, I saw a wedding_  
 _And I think the bride was you._  
 _You the bride and I a beggar_  
 _At the porch - it may be true!_

 _Let it happen as I dreamed it!_  
 _Only promise, as you stand_  
 _At the porch, to have the kindness -_  
 _Put no alms into my hand!_

 _-_ Konstantin Simonov, 1945.

* * *

She found him in his parents' manor, exactly one year after the war, just as he shot a hole through his target's wooden head.

"Hermione," he breathed, and suddenly there was life and color and music all around him. He went to embrace her but she scurried back, her eyes wide and glued to the rifle still clutched in his hand. He inwardly cursed himself and his ignorance and shoved the offensive weapon at his servant's chest. "Get rid of it. Get rid of all of them. Empty the cabinet. I don't care what you do with them, I don't want to see them anymore."

His servant nodded in response. When he turned back towards her she was already inside. He quickly followed her indoors and closed the door behind them.

"I am so sorry–" he began, only to stop when he saw her mouth moving silently. He frowned at the peculiar sight. "What?"

She gave him a small smile. She walked towards him, stood on her toes, and gently removed the protective eye gear and earmuffs.

"Better?" she asked.

He encircled his arms around her and pulled her to his chest. "Much better," he said, closing his eyes and resting his chin on her head, smiling at the unruly curls tickling his skin.

"You're not mad," she murmured. It was then he realized that she wasn't responding nor resisting, but standing still and limp.

He pulled away, as if scorched, but quickly composed his face when she looked up at him. Her eyes were as wide and brown as he remembered, but they were cold and hallow and he found it difficult to look into them so he turned away and pretended to busy himself with the liquor cabinet nearby.

"Please, have a seat," he said, his voice calm despite his nerves. He heard her walking towards the window were the seating area was. "Would like anything to drink? We have mostly liquor here but I can get wine from the cellar–"

"Gin, please, if you have any," she said.

His movements stilled. He couldn't help it; she had always hated liquor and just barely tolerated wine if it wasn't bitter enough. He presumed, as he did to her reaction to seeing his rifle that, this has something to do with the war so he poured her a glass of Gin and Bourbon for himself. It was a bit too early for either two, but he was starting to believe that he might need it a lot more than he thinks.

She was sitting on the sofa closest to the window, her eyes cast on the snow-covered grounds. He sat next to her and placed the drink in her hands. She downed it in one go.

"When did you learn to shoot?" she asked, setting her empty glass on the table before them.

He shook his head and turned his eyes from the glass towards her. "A few months ago, when I was in America. The Beater of the American team loves his guns. He had his own shooting range and insisted we try. I didn't like it at first, thought it was too loud and messy, but after a while it…" he took a swig of his own drink, thinking carefully over his words before uttering them. "The shooting cancelled out all other noises. I found that… comforting."

She nodded, but he wasn't quite sure if she actually understood, and he wasn't expecting her to because he didn't really reveal much. The guns were not only noise-cancelling, but also a distraction. Her absence and silence had left him clinging to his sanity with trembling fingers, waiting as he had promised her to but struggling to live knowing that she survived but still wasn't coming back. It had gotten to the point where he had to force himself to not loose faith, and he hated the guns but they did a wonderful job of blocking out the taunting, doubtful voices.

"But I don't need them anymore," he added hastily, hesitating before covering her hand with his. There was still no response. His heart sank.

"I'm sorry I… reacted the way I did," she said, looking down at their hands. "I don't know why I got scared, there were no guns in… they obviously weren't used because they're created by Muggles, you know, and they wouldn't want… they wouldn't lower themselves to…"

She swallowed hard. Her hand trembled beneath his and her breathing became labored. He quickly summoned the bottle and poured her another glass.

"Thank you," she breathed, freeing her hand to grasp her newly refilled glass and take a gulp of the clear liquid.

He nodded, watching her gradually finish her second glass, unable to say more. He had been warned of the outcome. She would either leap into his arms or part from his life. He refused to believe the latter, even when their warnings turned to console as more articles got published and as more letters returned unopened.

"Why aren't you angry?" she asked after a while, still staring at her empty glass on the table. "I've been ignoring you for a year."

He set his half-empty glass on the table next to hers. "You told me to wait, so I did. You came back just as you promised you would. There's no reason for me to be angry."

She was silent again.

"Did you come back?" he finally allowed himself to voice the question nagging at his mind, the uncertainty of his voice drawing her eyes back to his.

Tear pooled in her eyes. "No."

He turned away from her and summoned the Bourbon bottle. He grabbed it before it settled on the table and almost filled his glass to the rim. "What's his name?"

"Viktor Krum."

"You have a strange sense of humor."

She placed her hand on his arm to stop him from chugging his drink. "Please, listen."

He sighed but he put his glass down, though he still wouldn't look at her and show her his pain or the life leaving his eyes.

He felt her inching closer, but not quite enough to lean into him and he had to resist the urge to pull her into his arms and kiss away all her doubts and fears.

"The war took too many good people with it," she began, her voice cracking slightly at the end. "My friends, people I considered family, my classmates, and even some of my teachers. Those that survived the war died afterwards, some to suicide, others…" she sighed.

He allowed her a moment of silence to collect herself, a moment to her fallen friends.

"The Weasley's are mourning for a second time," she said.

He nodded solemnly. "I read it in the paper. I am so sorry. How is Potter?"

"Harry? He's devastated, beyond consoling. First his best friend, then his child, and I guess his girlfriend in a way."

He looked at her then. She wasn't crying as he expected her to, but looking ahead with that same empty expression.

"Ginny never stopped blaming herself," she continued. "There were times when we were truly afraid of her. Had she not been previously convinced that killing herself would've put Ron's sacrifice to waste, I honestly believe that she would've… that she would've joined him by now."

She practically chocked the words out, and Viktor drew her to him just as the tears starting flowing.

"I'm sorry, I'm fine!" she started, furiously wiping her tears and pushing away from him.

"It's ok if you can't talk about it," he said, quickly dropping his arms by his sides, struggling to hide exactly how much she stung him.

"No, please, it's important that you know," she pleaded, her tears dried but her voice hoarse still. "It also helps when I talk about it."

He nodded. He refilled her glass but she didn't take it. Instead she was staring at him, not with those empty hallow eyes he was growing to fear, but with eyes that reminded him of the brilliant, fierce young woman he was forced to part with at Bill and Fleur's wedding.

"You were right about Ron," she said.

He finally understood. This time she didn't stop him from downing his drink but she placed her hand on his arm again when he reached for a refill.

"Nothing happened between us," she said, more imploring than reassuring. "He told me he loved me just before the battle. He knew my heart was with you still, but he wanted me to know in case something happens to him and… and it did." She took a deep, shaky breath. "Ginny was disarmed by Dolohov. Ron wasn't one to stand by and let anyone hurt his little sister, no matter how often they quarreled and called each other names. He loved her most, and she him, but Dolohov was too quick.

"You know Molly once said that she's glad Ron died before seeing his family fall apart. Can you believe it? This came from _Molly Weasley_! Or I suppose I should start calling her Molly Prewett soon." She smiled sadly at his shocked expression. "The press are in the dark for now, but yes, it's true. Molly and Arthur are considering divorce. It's too much even for wizards that have survived both wars. It can't be easy to bury one child and watch the others struggle to live, even if they are gradually improving. I think Bill is somewhat recovered, all thanks to Fleur. Charlie is alright, too, I guess, if you consider isolating yourself with dragons in Romania alright. Fred lost his ability to walk, but he's got George by his side so I suppose it's only a matter of time before the two of them start planning mischief. Percy's got depression, but he's finally agreed to see a therapist."

He hesitated. "And Ginny?"

She stared at her drink for a long time but didn't grab it as he expected her to. "Ginny was on her way," she said slowly, tearing her eyes from the glass to look at him again. "It was taking a long time, and a great toll especially on Harry, but she was getting better."

"Until?"

"Until she got pregnant. Somehow that seemed to drive her over the edge, so she panicked and terminated the pregnancy." She paused. "No one blamed her, of course. We all understood, even Harry who wanted the child more than anything. Her terminating the pregnancy wasn't the problem; it was…" she took a deep breath, bracing herself. "She did it because she didn't want Ron to be alone."

"And… and where is she now?" he asked, no longer able to mask the horror and shock from slipping through his mask.

"She's been admitted to St. Mungo's. The Healers aren't sure how long they'll have to keep her, but for now she's a danger to herself so she needs to be monitored at all times."

They were still for a long time. She was quietly sipping her drink, watching him with guarded eyes as he leaned his elbows on his knees and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. He wasn't crying, of course, although he was troubled by all the details the papers glossed over. He was trying to process all the information, especially those harder to digest such as the now grief-stricken man he knew as a mere boy from the tournament and the once fiery girl driven to madness, and he was grateful for the space Hermione was giving him.

"I am so sorry," he finally said, looking up at her with tired eyes and making her pause mid-drink. "I am so sorry, Hermione. I don't know what else to say. I wish I was there for you–"

"No," she cut in frostily, setting her glass down.

"Why the fuck not?" he asked, his temper rising despite his efforts. "Hermione, what did I do to make you push me away at every turn?"

"Nothing, Viktor, I–"

"Then stop treating me like a fragile fucking dandelion because I am _not_ weak!"

"I never said you were weak!" she gasped, appalled at the suggestion.

"Then tell me what is keeping you from me," he demanded, fueled by a year's worth of pain and anger and neglect. "Tell me why you stayed away all this time if you still love me. Was it your guilt over Ron, Ginny, Harry, or all the Weasley's and all the dead and wounded?"

"No, of course not! I'm not–!"

"Not a single letter, Hermione, not one from your side. Not a word! And then you come into my house, make me for a moment believe that it's finally over, only to–"

"I've _changed_!" she cried, covering her face with both hands and easily silencing him midway through his outburst. "Everything changed! Can't you see? I'm not the same fourteen-year-old girl you danced with all those years ago! I'm different, I'm… I'm wounded. Damaged. I'm _scared,_ Viktor."

He was overcome by guilt, cursing his selfishness and insensitivity. Once again he felt compelled to gather her in his arms, to cry and beg until she forgives him, but instead he placed a gentle hand on her back and started rubbing soothing circles when she didn't flinch or pull away. She had been strong for too long, he suddenly realized. She had been everyone's rock, but she herself didn't have a shoulder to lean on.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said softly, tilting his head to peek past the fingers concealing her face. "You're still the same confusing woman I love."

"Please, Viktor, it's useless, you're only hurting yourself–!"

"Then tell me exactly what changed because I can't see it."

She slowly looked up at him, her wet face a display of too many emotions fighting for dominance. He smiled and edged closer, and when she didn't resist he used the sleeve of his shirt to gently wipe away her tears.

"You don't like to consider your emotions, for example, but then you cry over silly things," he said. He then leaned into her wild curls and inhaled deeply. "You're hair still smells like wild berries." For some reason it made her blush a little and he felt encouraged. He slid his hand from her back to her ribs and she gasped instantly and nearly scurried into his lap. He smirked when she looked up at him, no doubt remembering the many times he's used that trick on her. "I see that you're still very ticklish in some places." He cradled her jaw with his free hand. "You also like to be kissed in a certain way," he murmured, then touched his lips to hers and felt her coming alive with him, felt her giving in and opening up to him like she did the first time he kissed her all those years ago.

When he pulled back he found that she had moved onto his lap and looped her arms around his neck, pressing her body to his and peppering light kisses along his jaws.

"You also like to take charge of most situations," he said with a chuckle, wrapping his arms around her to still her when she pulled back to glare at him.

"And you're crazy," she said in a huff. "Why on Earth would you still wait for me, after everything?"

"Because you asked me to, you silly girl," he said, grinning. "Also, I've had dreams."

"Dreams?" she asked with a frown.

"One recurring dream," he corrected, brushing stray curls out of her face to place a kiss on the tiny fold between her eyebrows. "Not every night, but often enough. I started having that dream ever since you left, and I think it helped me wait."

"What happens in the dream?"

"Not much," he said, shrugging. "In the dream I see a wedding, and I think the bride was you."

She paused. "And… and you're the groom?"

He smiled. "I'm the beggar next to you on the porch. Sometimes you don't see me, sometimes you give me alms, and sometimes you laugh. The last time I had that dream, you took my hand."

"You _still_ want to marry me?" she asked incredulously.

"Hermione, I've always wanted to marry you."

"After _everything_?"

"After everything."

She was nervously chewing her bottom lip when he looked up at her.

"They died so you could live," he said. "You went to war so you could live the life you deserve. By denying yourself this life you're spitting on all their sacrifices. I'm here, untouched by war just the way you wanted me to be, so I could help you live again."

"I don't know if I'm ready," she confessed with a sigh, closing her eyes and leaning her forehead against his. "I don't know if I can… if I can allow myself to be with you the way I want to."

"I can wait."

"You've waited long enough, Viktor."

He rolled his eyes. "I've already waited years for you, Miss Granger. I can wait some more." He quickly silenced her protests with a kiss. "I admit that it hurt like hell, but you're worth it. You're worth every moment. Even if we don't marry for decades, even if I grow old and grey by the time you consider it an option, I'll wait as long as I have you by my side."


	3. Cataclysm

A/N: So we're finally at the end. I for one can't thank you enough for all your kind words and support, even to the wonderful anonymous reviewers that I sadly can't reply to, and especially to drovingallday96 for making me consider expanding this in the first place. I also apologise for the delay! I'm not very good with purely fluffy/romantic pieces, so I tend to take more time with them than I usually do with others, but I do hope the length and overall sweetness/sappiness makes up for it.

Again, thank you for all the love. I hope you enjoy this!

* * *

 _"_ _My love is like a cataclysm,_

 _Transcending time and space."_

Konstantin Simonov, 1942.

* * *

He found himself leaning against the doorframe watching her fuss over the stubborn veil that refused to sit atop her head. She hasn't been through any significant physical changes in the past five years and he's seen her in too many dresses to count, but somehow she still managed to steal his breath away and render him motionless.

"Viktor!" she gasped, whirling around to face him when she finally caught his reflection in the full-length mirror, her struggle with the veil all but forgotten as she rushed towards her husband-to-be with a horrified expression plastered on her previously anxious face. "What are you doing here?"

"You look stunning," he said, smiling at her.

She truly was a spectacular image to behold in that elegant, off-shoulder white dress. Her normally bushy mane was smoothed into shiny curls that fell over her shoulders and just barely reached her waist, somewhat covering her partially exposed back.

"Oh, but you're not supposed to see me before the ceremony!" she moaned. "It's bad luck!"

"Muggle superstition," he said, giving it a dismissive wave. He then pulled her into his arms, eliciting a surprised squeal followed by stuttered protests. "Woman, how do you expect me to keep my hands to myself when you look like that? I'd steal you away right now if I didn't want to call you Mrs. Krum first."

"Oh, please do!" she laughed nervously, looping her arms around his waist and leaning into him. "I'm absolutely _terrified_ of walking down that aisle!"

He chuckled. "Hermione I know I'm not perfect, but I can't be _that_ bad!"

"You know that's not what I meant," she grumbled, giving his back a playful smack. "I just… it's not how I imagined it. It's really more like a press conference than an actual wedding! I've been here for hours and I haven't seen any of my friends because every time I open the door I'm greeted by a reporter, and I can't find my parents anywhere and I'm worried because I haven't heard from Harry and I'd obviously need my father to give me away and–"

"Your parents are fine, Hermione," he cut through her panic-laced ramblings, running a hand through her soft locks. "Everything is fine, you don't have to worry at all." He then took a hold of her hands and took several steps backwards, gently pulling her with him. "All you have to do is follow me."

"Follow you where?" she asked, planting her feet and forcing him to halt.

"Just come. I have a surprise for you."

"Viktor, you promised you wouldn't!"

"And I'm a man of my word," he said, stepping closer so he could properly adjust and pin the veil on her head when he noticed it slipping. "I promise you I haven't spent anything on this. I just know you'll love it."

She frowned. "How so?"

"Well, for starters, we're not getting married here."

"We're _not_? But the press, the people, they're all– they're all waiting–!" she sputtered, anxious and fretting once again over the opinion of others.

He placed his hands on her shoulders to still her. "Let them wait. This is what they get for pressuring us into making a public spectacle of our wedding."

"But we _can't_ –!"

"We can and we will," he said, giving her veil a light experimental tug to make sure it stays in place. "This is _our_ day, Hermione. I don't know about you, but I'm sick and tired of bending to the will of the public. So what if a Seeker and a war hero are getting married? At the end of the day they're still two people in love, and they've got every right to privacy. Also, between the two of us, I really _hate_ everyone in that room so I really don't care if they're disappointed."

"Oh, you're impossible!" She giggled and he felt himself relax. She then looked up at him with a shy smile reminiscent of the girl that accepted his Yule Ball invitation. "I can't believe we're finally getting married."

"It's crazy. Sometimes I think I'm dreaming," he said, smiling adoringly back at her. "But we might not be husband and wife by the end of the night if we don't hurry out of here."

"But wait, what about our friends and family?"

"They're already waiting for us at the right venue. Do you have everything you need? We'll have to Disapparate."

She groaned. "Do we have to? Why can't we just used the Floo network?"

He chuckled. "I'm sorry, I know you hate it, but it's necessary. The place is… a little far from here, and the Floo networks aren't very reliable at the moment."

She frowned. "Viktor, where exactly are we going?"

He grinned and offered her his arm. "Somewhere spacious, old, and very special. Are you ready?"

She responded by gingerly placing her hand on his arm. She nodded when she felt certain that her grip was secure enough.

They arrived at the iron gates of the ancient castle with a resounding crack. She gasped next to him when she finally took in her surroundings and for a moment he feared that he may have made a big mistake in bringing her here of all places, but then he saw her staring at the looming, lamp lit towers of Hogwarts castle with the same longing for the sunny childhood she often spoke of and he just knew that he made the right decision.

"Here?" she asked, almost breathless, still staring at the castle in wonder. "H-how…?"

The sun was beginning to set; it's dying embers washing them in various shades of bright red and orange, making her stark white dress especially stand out. The castle and its grounds looked even more warm and inviting than he remembers when he first set foot all those years ago on one violent, stormy night. He couldn't help but smile.

"Simple," he said, taking her small hands in his and bringing them to his lips. "You, my dear, are loved by many." He faltered when he saw tears forming in her eyes and was quick to shield her with his arms. "I'm so sorry, if you can't be here, if it's too much, we'll leave immediately–"

"No, no, I'm– I'm happy! These are happy tears!" she laughed, pulling back to wipe the few tears that dripped from the corner of her eyes. "I don't know what else to say and its all your fault you crazy, sweet, wonderful man! How did you know?"

"You talk a lot when you're drunk," he said, smirking at her mortified expression at the rather embarrassing memory.

She smacked his arm, feigning anger, then grabbed his tie and pulled him down for a kiss.

"I love you so much, Viktor," she whispered, pulling back slowly, "I can't wait to be your wife."

Their binding vows were spoken under the stars by the still lake reflecting the lights of hundreds of fireflies, let loose by none other than Fred and George. The light of the tiny creatures were dimmer than that of the traditionally used fairy lights but Viktor insisted they keep them for they cast a beautiful, ethereal glow that added great significance to the day in ways he couldn't describe. He especially loved it when they settled in the air around Hermione's head, for the jagged halo they formed combined with her curls and flowing white dress gave her the form of an angel without wings.

The aging Ceremony Official waved his wand to shower their intertwined fingers with tiny golden stars. The fireflies flew away from Hermione, as if to give Viktor passage, and he wasted not a minute. He leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss on his wife's lips, a first of many to come for as many years as they were allowed together. He barely registered their guests' applaud or the white doves that took flight from somewhere above their heads, and he only looked away from his wife when he heard his father clearing his throat behind him. He released Hermione's hand and stepped back to allow his father, as the current Lord Krum, to give Hermione the traditional welcome into the family.

The Bulgarian patriarch was graying in most parts but he was hardly considered frail, not with his towering height and steel eyes and commanding presence. His typically hard face had softened considerably, almost to the point where it resembled his son's, when he stepped forward to take Hermione's hands in his. "Welcome, daughter." He said in his own deep accented voice before planting a fatherly kiss on her forehead. "I am honored to call you my blood."

"As am I, father," she said, curtsying as low as she could, no doubt as his mother had instructed her to, before standing straight and giving him a radiant smile.

She was by his side for a brief moment before a horde of red stole her from him. She was engulfed first by a sobbing Molly Weasley, who only just barely released her when Arthur finally managed to reach her and ease her away from the equally sobbing bride. Next was Hermione's mother, shedding her own happy tears but in a slightly more dignified manner, followed by Hermione's father and then finally the Weasley siblings that have somehow managed to wait patiently by the side.

Bill and Fleur were the first to congratulate the newlyweds, with their daughters Victoire and Dominique marveling at Hermione's dress and Viktor's 'gigantic' height. Percy and his wife Audrey followed them, with their Lucy too enamored by the fireflies and their Molly a mere infant wrapped in a bundle in her mother's arms. A burlier than ever Charlie Weasley shook Viktor's hand with a grin and proceeded to engulf Hermione in a bear hug that had her squealing and those nearby laughing at the sight.

"Faster, Georgie, faster! I'm aging over here!" Fred bellowed from his wheelchair to his struggling brother and exasperated sister-in-law. His nephew was perched on his knee, giggling at his uncle's antics.

"Bloody hell, Fred, did you eat your weight in chocolate frogs?" panted George as he finally got to stop before the couple. "I'm loosing a lung trying to push your fat arse around."

"Do you see what I'm dealing with?" said Angelina to Hermione, exasperated.

Little Ronald beamed up at Hermione. He hopped off Fred's knee and wobbled towards her and she knelt in time to embrace him, her smile soft and affectionate and a little sad.

"Hey Krum! Ever wondered why we named him Ron?" asked Fred, grinning at Viktor's raised eyebrow.

"In honor of your brother, of course," he said, and then looked at the boy's bright red hair and freckles. "I suppose he also looks like him."

The boy suddenly broke from Hermione's embrace and marched to stand in front of Viktor, looking up at him with as much defiance as a three-year-old could muster. He then kicked him hard in the leg, or at lest hard enough to get a surprised grunt from Viktor and a round of laughter from the twins and a mortified gasp from Angelina.

"Hate you, stupid bird!" he screeched, before turning around and sprinting away as fast as his tiny legs could take him, just fast enough to miss his mother's outstretched hands that sought to grab him.

"I am _so_ sorry, I did not teach him that!" she said, flushing as she looked between Viktor and Hermione. "I'll definitely talk to him about this!" She cast her husband and brother-in-law a glare before rushing towards where their son vanished.

"I think you're in trouble," said Viktor, straightening up once the stinging effects of the boy's kick faded.

"It's all in good fun," said Fred dismissively.

"Yea, I actually think he likes you, Krum," said George.

Viktor rolled his eyes.

"Well, I for one don't appreciate you two pitting Ron against my husband," said Hermione, coiling her arm around Viktor's protectively. "Or that you're encouraging the poor boy to use violence to express himself, for that matter."

Fred's smile turned gentle. "Feels nice, doesn't it?"

"What does?"

"Calling someone your own," said George, his expression an exact replica of his brother's.

Hermione smiled shyly and nodded, averting her eyes as her cheeks bloomed, making Viktor's heart swell at the sight.

When Harry finally approached them with Daphne Greengrass by his side Hermione dropped all formalities and threw her arms around him, skewing his glasses with the impact and nearly sending him backwards into the grass. His fiancé laughed at the sight, covering her lips with her pale hand in a delicate fashion.

"Oh Harry, thank you for coming!" she said, sniffling into his shoulder.

"Of course I'd come, 'Mione, wouldn't miss it for the world," he said, readjusting his spectacles and patting her back. "How often does my best friend get to marry the poor wizard that never stopped chasing her?"

She laughed as she finally pulled back, giving Harry the chance to congratulate Viktor as she and Daphne exchanged words.

"I must thank you again, Potter," said Viktor, shaking the younger man's hand. "It means a lot to Hermione that you came, and to me as well. She always speaks highly of you."

"Thanks, Viktor, and really it's my pleasure," said Harry, grinning. "I should be thanking you. I've never seen Hermione this happy in a long time. She's absolutely radiant!"

Viktor turned to look at his wife just as she threw her head back to laugh at something Daphne said.

"I will love this woman to my dying days," he vowed, more to Hermione than to Harry, his tone reverent.

"If there's anyone who deserves it, its Hermione," said Harry, following Viktor's line of view to the two women conversing. "Congratulations, mate."

Witches and wizards he didn't know came to congratulate them, or maybe he did know them but simply couldn't recognize them. He recalled the faces of the few professors from her schooldays, now older and greyer, and he didn't realize that the handsome young man with the deep scar across the bridge of his nose was in fact Neville Longbottom until he laughed at Viktor's confused face and reintroduced himself. Dreamy-eyed Luna Lovegood and the Scamander boy she recently started seeing had somehow managed to convince Xenophilius to leave his Deathly Hallow pendant behind for the sake of the groom's family, and while he didn't exactly try to hide his exasperation he was still very polite and genuine when he passed his good wishes and some questionable advice on herbs unknown to man, and despite himself Viktor felt this odd relationship mending.

His Quidditch teammates only parted with him when he and Hermione were called to the dance floor where most of the fireflies hovered, once again casting that beautiful ethereal light. She smiled when he took her hand and bowed low to kiss it, her conversation with his mother and tittering female cousins momentarily forgotten as he led her away from them and right into the swarm of buzzing, tiny yellow dots.

They have danced on many occasions before, most notably at a ball and several other weddings, but this particular dance felt more significant and much more concrete and binding than their exchanged vows. He wasn't sure if it's the light of the fireflies or the sighs and coos of their guests, or if it's the castle that is the source of all magic standing proud behind them or if it's simply her small hand resting over his heart, but for reasons he wouldn't dare question he felt certain that the warmth spreading from his chest all the way to his fingertips is impermeable to the frosty winter months that clung to him in her absence.

Couples young and old started filling in. Molly and Arthur seemed as close as ever, as if they've never once thought of separating, and the sight pleased Hermione. Their parents switched partners halfway through, Hermione's father seemingly struggling a little with Viktor's mother as her questions tended to be complicated and her grasp of the English language not too strong for those unused to her company, while his father's accented yet eloquent tongue made for a more pleasant conversation with Hermione's mother. He caught the fire of Ginny's hair from the corner of his eyes as she twirled past them in the arms of a grinning Oliver Wood, but was quickly distracted by Hermione sighing and leaning her cheek on his chest.

"Tired?" he asked, all too aware of her nightly routine usually putting her to bed just around this time.

"Comfortable," came her reply.

"In those shoes?"

"They're really not as bad as they look," she said, her small body quivering with soft laughter. "Of course that's all thanks to Ginny, because knowing me I'd probably pick the least comfortable pair– Like the pair I wore to the ball, actually. Do you remember?"

He chuckled at the memory, fond of it still despite how it inconvenienced him at the time. "The blue ones with the long straps. How could I forget? I was about to kiss you goodnight when one of the heels snapped and nearly sprained your ankle, but you weren't even worried about that because suddenly you thought you needed to loose weight. They were mood killers!"

"Hey, I was only fourteen! And I remember you insisting on proving me wrong by carrying me all the way to the Gryffindor common room, only to be stopped by the Fat Lady."

"Oh yes, the other mood killer…"

"Well it was against the rules for you to go in and she was only doing her job. Besides," she said, looking up at him with her chin pressed against his chest just as he was about to argue. "In the end it all worked out in your favor. I was too young to understand it at the time, but I think I started loving you then." She paused, taking a moment to study him, a tiny frown creasing the space between her eyebrows as her thoughts wandered. "You know sometimes I don't think I thank you enough for waiting."

He smirked and leaned to whisper in her ear, his fingers tracing the seam holding her dress to her body. "You can thank me to your hearts content later by taking off this dress."

"Oi, leave something for the honeymoon!"

They turned to find Fred grinning up at them from his wheelchair, without his brother for the first time since the ceremony began.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you that it's rude to eavesdrop on newlyweds?" asked Hermione with an arched brow.

He shrugged. "I was about to cut in, politely of course, but seeing as you two are about to consummating your marriage and sin for all your dear friends and family to see, I'm beginning to think that I should probably just steal the bride instead."

"How would we be sinning if we're married?"

"Because, Granger– err, should I start calling you Krum now?" he asked with a frown, before shaking his head. "Anyway, its one thing to know and another to see. Besides, the war was traumatizing enough, so I'd really rather just deal with that instead ofKrum's naked arse forever burned in my memory."

Viktor snorted. "Your loss, Weasley. You could've learned a few things." He skimmed his hand over Hermione's backside for extra measure and she yelped and flushed crimson, alerting Fred and quickly turning his expression from playful and teasing to that of horror.

"Blimey, you weren't kidding!" he gasped before grabbing Hermione's wrist and pulling her out of Viktor's arms. "Alright, that's enough! Big brother Fred is here to save the sweet innocent eyes of many present, both old and young. You shall have the missus back when you learn to behave, or when you start cutting the cake. Whichever comes first, I'm not picky." He winked as Hermione laughed.

He had danced with his mother-in-law, Fleur, his own mother, Molly, and with little Victoire standing on his feet and clinging to his fingers before Ginny finally found him. She mock curtsied once she managed to convince Victoire to scurry back to her mother, and Viktor laughed but accepted her hand nonetheless.

"Mr. Granger probably didn't say anything because he's nice, but as Maid of Honor it's my duty to warn you," she said, her expression fierce and assertive. "If you hurt Hermione, if you make her cry just _once,_ I will come for you." She narrowed her eyes when he chuckled. "I'll have you know that I grew up with six older brothers, got possessed by a dark powerful wizard, fought a war, and spent five years in St. Mungo's."

"And I understand that you're a force to be reckoned with," he said, quickly waving a hand in a surrendering motion. "I'm sorry I laughed. You don't need to worry about anything. I promise you that as long as I'm alive I will make sure that Hermione remains the happiest woman on Earth."

The stern lines of her face retreated then, making way for a satisfied smile. "Good, I expect nothing less. She deserves nothing less."

It had been almost a year since Ginny was finally released from St. Mungo's, and as far as Hermione and Harry and the Weasley's were concerned the past is buried and forgotten, but Viktor couldn't help but feel that that might not be the case for the young woman before him. She hadn't had a relapse since she stopped taking her potions, but he could see that she was still haunted by her grief and her guilt in the way she obsessively looked after her loved ones, Harry and Hermione in particular. She was not able to fully mend her relationship with the Boy Who Lived, at least not to what it used to be, so she stepped over her pride and her own heart and she introduced soft-spoken Daphne Greengrass into his life.

"How are you?" he heard himself ask.

Her eyes widened briefly and he wondered if he had said the wrong thing, but then he relaxed when he saw the corners of her mouth quirking upwards. "All things considered? Never better."

"Good," he said. He hesitated. "I saw you with Wood earlier. He's not bothering you again, is he?"

His best man had dropped jaws all around him when he started courting the youngest Weasley shortly after her release. Many assumed that it was an act of mercy on his part, particularly the old crones that sniggered behind bejeweled fingers over the sealed fate of the girl that condemned herself to a life of spinsterhood by letting the Boy Who Lived slip through her fingers. The whispers had grown louder with time, had even her family convinced that his motives were not as pure as he claimed, and until Harry Potter himself spoke in his defense Viktor was certain that one of the Weasley brothers would've definitely rearranged the planes of Oliver's face by now.

Either way it doesn't matter, for Ginny continues rejecting his advances to this day.

"Not at all," she said, frowning a little. "Come to think of it he's been… not as forward. I think he's afraid of Percy."

"Percy!" said Viktor incredulously; glancing at the bespectacled Weasley rambling about who knows what to a very obviously bored cousin of his. "He is harmless. He talks big sometimes, but everyone knows he wouldn't hurt a fly. I'd be more worried about the twins."

She shrugged. "He's only this way around Percy, or maybe he just doesn't want to cause a scene at your wedding. I don't know." She sighed, her honey eyes drifting over his head towards the stony fortress. She's suddenly ancient despite her clear soft skin and bright red hair. "It feels great to be back. This is a good memory. I think I'll stop coming here after tonight, or at least until this night becomes the last thing I remember about Hogwarts." They slowed to a stop as the song finally ended. He was sure his expression was either sad or concerned, but for some reason she gave him a small smile for it. "Congratulations, Viktor." She said, stepping on her toes and kissing his cheek. "Please don't forget your promise."

She was gone before he could say anything. He was staring after her, conflicted, until Hermione slipped her hand into his. She was winded and flushed, no doubt having been passed around too many old friends with heightened spirits, and when she stepped on her toes to kiss his other cheek his focus automatically shifted back towards her.

It turns out that cutting cake was a messier affair than he thought, and that his wife was perhaps as clumsy on her feet as he is, for instead of spoon feeding him the cake in what he assumed was supposed to be a sweet and endearing gesture her heel got caught in a hole and the lower half of his face was suddenly smeared with frosting. They stared at each other for a heartbeat, both shocked and unblinking, before she dropped the plate and burst into tear-jerking, uncontrollable laughter.

He grinned and spread his arms, taking a step over the fallen piece and towards her. "Come here."

"Stay back!" she warned, laughing still as she quickly stepped around the table.

"Come, darling, give me a kiss," he said sweetly, stalking slowly around the table.

"Oh no, you stay away from me, you frosting-bearded fiend!" she giggled, then squealed and dashed away when he made a sudden lunge towards her, only narrowly missing her wrist.

"But I've missed you so much," he said, pouting as he stopped to face her on the other side of the table, gripping the edge in preparation. "And you look so beautiful. Come, don't deny your poor husband a kiss."

"Wash your face first!"

He caught her knees wobbling just a bit, indicating that her traitorous heels are likely to betray her soon. He gave her a feral grin before placing his palm flat on the table and hoisting his entire weight over it and landing before her with surprising grace. She screamed in alarm and tried to make a quick run for it but his reflexes were trained for speed. He locked his arms around her waist and crashed his lips to hers as their guests laughed at their childish antics, making sure to smear as much frosting as he could in the process. She struggled only a little before he felt her lips curving into a smile over his. He pulled back and then laughed at her own face now covered in sticky white frosting, for which he received an eye-roll.

"Stand still, you've got something on your face," she said, cupping his face in her hands to still his movements.

"Hmm I wonder what," he said, feigning confusion as he stilled on her request and rested his hands on her hips.

Her smile turned devious. She then leaned into him and pressed her lips to his, not in the same sloppy manner he did to get her covered in frosting, but slow and deep and worthy of the thunderous cheers it drew from the still-watching crowd.

Their faces were clear when they were seated again, a very fussy Ginny being responsible especially for retouching Hermione's make up, but they were hardly calmed as they laughed about it still. They even teased and taunted each other with juicy, spiced, gravy-soaked pieces of meat and vegetables, only to stop when they noticed Ginny's murderous glare flickering between their plates and Hermione's white dress that is miraculously still white.

Champaign glasses were passed and Oliver was quick on his feet, the clinking of his wand against the glass quickly silencing all conversations as he prepared to fulfil his last duty as best man and propose a toast.

"I suppose I should tell you all how I met the groom since it's common knowledge that the bride and I went to the same school," he began, the tip of his wand now against his throat to magnify his voice as his free hand held the glass in an oddly delicate manner for a man his size. "I started playing for Puddlemere United roughly two years after Viktor started with the Vratsa Vultures, and by then he had already caught an impressive amount of Snitches, so despite us being around the same age he was still in Quidditch terms older and much more experienced than me– Intimidating, if you will, and being the green player I was at the time I wasted no time in introductions. He was exactly as the press described him, a detached young man with little patience for meaningless human conversations, and all was fine and well until…" he sighed dramatically, turning to look at Viktor. "…until I mentioned that I graduated from Hogwarts, and that I was in house Gryffindor. I kid you not, not even my most devote fans have gotten close and friendly as fast as Viktor did that day."

He paused to allow the guests a round of laughter, grinning at Viktor before continuing: "It was as fascinating as it was scary, like seeing a sculpture getting reanimated, except it was mostly annoying as the only thing said sculpture ever talked about was Hermione Granger." This time he chuckled under his breath with the crowd, shaking his head. "I swear to god, Hermione, I have never known you as well in school as I did from all of Viktor's talking! He was, and I suspect still is, your biggest fan. It unnerved me at first, but as time went by and as he matured I saw that infatuation turn into something bigger and deeper, and slowly I began to appreciate his fierce devotion to a girl he's only really spent a few months with.

"I must admit that it confused me at times, especially in the way he drank in every single word of every single letter he's received from her like a man dying of thirst, and how he pored over his own replies for hours on end, his scrolls just multiplying in length with ever owl sent. Other times I thought it was heartbreaking, and tried convincing him to move on and to try giving other girls a chance, but he was as stubborn as he was vigilant in proving himself worthy for the woman he loves. I'm ashamed to say that I was amongst many that expected the affair to end with a broken heart, namely his, but then one day he Apparated in my apartment like an eager little boy on Christmas morning with the news that she finally said Yes to his proposal. He had done it. He had become one of very few lucky bastards that get to marry their first love!

"Now I feel like I need to make a confession before I continue." He then turned towards Harry Potter with an apologetic grin. "Viktor was actually considering picking you as his best man. No offence, mate, I know that you died for us and all but _I_ earned this." Harry laughed at that. "I don't know what it was like on your side, Potter, but I've had to listen to _Herm-own-ninny this_ and _Herm-own-ninny that_ and _I wonder if Herm-own-ninny will like it_ and _I wonder if Herm-own-ninny is missing me_ for so – many – years! _Years_ , Potter, years of listening to nothing besides the many wonders of Hermione Granger! I deserve this honor above everything else, in fact more so than the bloody World Cup!"

He gave another pause as the crowd roared with laughter, joined even by Hermione and Viktor who were tearing up and holding their sides. He then clicked his wand to his glass again to quiet the booming laughter.

"Everyone knows it's necessary to include a word or two on the love our newlyweds have for each other," he began again, "and having been a witness to it myself I assumed it'd be the easiest part when I started writing this, but to be completely honest with you I've actually struggled to find the right word for a very long time. Granted, I was never really that good with words, and at some point I got so desperate I nearly gave up this position to Harry, but then last night it came to me just when I thought I would surely make a fool of myself." He then turned back to Viktor and Hermione with a respectful, admiring smile void of the mischievous tone his speech carried. "Cataclysm. I suppose some of you may think it unfit, bad omen even, to use a word normally associated with disaster to describe something so beautiful, but I honestly cannot think of a better alternative. Their love was as natural as the cycle of the sun, inevitable. It's also powerful; it survived time, distance, war, and grief. It brought not only the two of them together, but _all_ of us here today to the one place we used to call home, the one place that was taken from us and turned into something from our worst nightmares."

Silence fell, thick and heavy, over the attendants, of which the majority have witnessed the destruction he spoke of. Viktor looked at Hermione, once again concerned that Oliver's speech was taking her places she wasn't ready to visit, and he found that although she was staring back at him with a somber expression on her face, she still wasn't frightened. She was determined not to be frightened anymore, not to let her grief and guilt over circumstances she couldn't control hinder her. She was done crying, done fighting her demons. She was going to live in spite of them.

He opened his mouth to give her words of comfort, but she stopped him with a smile. She moved her hand over his under the table and slipped her fingers through his own.

"I'm sure you're all thinking of the ones we're missing," said Oliver, now facing the crowd, "and I'm sure they're with us today, smiling down from above knowing that their sacrifices have finally paid off, that _love_ prevailed over hate, that this is just the beginning of a great, peaceful era, and I myself can't think of a better way to initiate it than by celebrating the union of two people that embody it." He turned back towards them and raised his glass, signaling for the guests to join in the close of his toast. "To the bride and groom!"

His words were echoed with vigor. Delicate Champaign glasses were clinked and downed as he stepped off the center and received his well-deserved praises. Viktor watched their guests slowly disperse from around his best man as the music started playing again, and to the Bulgarian's pleasant surprise it was Ginny he took with him to the dance floor.

Viktor felt Hermione snuggling closer to his side and leaning her head on his shoulder. He wasn't sure if she was thinking of Oliver's speech or admiring the almost-couple, but it was getting late and he was getting tired and her warmth was putting him in a lull.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head on top of hers. There were no words necessary. They were together, they were comfortable, and nothing else mattered.

* * *

"All that talk about taking off my dress…" she sighed under her breath, shaking her head at the sight of her husband sprawled on the bed, dead asleep and snoring lightly after being left alone for only ten minutes while she prepared herself in the bathroom.

She walked over to her side of the bed and contemplated waking him, but it was so late and he looked so worn. She realized that she herself would rather end the night with a well deserved rest, so she crawled under the covers and laid next to him. She gasped softly when she felt his arms snake around her waist in the brief moment she gave him her back to turn off the lamp on the nightstand, and half-expecting him to be awake she turned around in his arms but instead he snuggled into the crook of her neck with a deep, content sigh.

"Goodnight, Mrs. Krum," he murmured into her skin, so faint she couldn't tell if he was somewhat awake or if he had said it in sleep, but either way it made her heart skip.

She smiled softly. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and drew him closer, planting a soft kiss on his shaggy dark locks. "Sleep well, darling."


End file.
